The servant with the candle opened the door, and Lyon pushed pst him into the study. The sight of the tall young man turning to face him by the crackling fireplace made Lyon’s heart leap into his throat.
“David! By the devil, ‘tis good to see you!”
****
He was standing, facing him. David looked with disbelief at the powerful shoulders, the straight back, at the legs supporting his weight. The letters he’d received failed to prepare him for this. Although he’d read them, he had not been convinced that Lyon had truly healed. He was no longer the broken man who lay indifferent to the world on a bed in a dark chamber. Incapable of seeing to his own most basic needs, drugged to the point of being unable to recognize his own kin, Lyon had not even been able to remember the events that had put him in such a state.
David remembered how Lyon’s inability to defend his honor against the accusations had tortured all of them. He also recalled the guilt he’d felt over this past year about the way he and Pierce had deserted him in the time when Lyon had needed them most.
David looked up into his brother’s face and saw a multitude of emotions pass over his features. Not one of them might be construed as hostile, though.
“You are not in uniform.”
“I’ve left my regiment.”
It was difficult to remain rooted in one place, not to move forward and pull him into an embrace. David saw the slight graying of hair at Lyon’s temples. There were new lines around his intense blue eyes. He’d even gained a bit of weight. Lyon had aged somewhat. But with that, there was a sense of calm, too. The tension that had always charged the air during the time when Lyon had been married to Emma was gone.
“Have you?” the earl asked, obviously surprised. “Why now?”
“I’ve had enough of the military. ‘Twas time for a change.”
Lyon paused, his gaze searching David’s face. “Was that the only reason?”
The younger brother returned the earl’s gaze and then shook his head. “No, that was not the only reason. They were sending me to the American colonies to report to an Admiral Middleton. I’ve heard something of Pierce’s involvement in Boston’s affairs…and also learned recently of his new relations with the admiral through marriage. I was not about to be used as a weapon against my own brother.”
The earl’s face was unreadable. “Putting your family above king and country?”
“For all my life, what I have known to be the truth has always had a way of separating itself from the dictates of king and country. That has become clearer to me lately. Perhaps ’tis the rebel Scottish blood that runs in my veins—or perhaps ’tis the perspective of the third son that makes it so—but I do not believe that wisdom and moral superiority necessarily come with a man’s position in the world.”
David waited anxiously as Lyon continued to study him for a few moments longer, realizing that, so far, there had been no warm welcome. He had not given too much thought to this moment before now. What if the hurt between them was be repair? Still, he thought, Lyon had welcomed Pierce back with open arms.
“I need to know what you believe about me.”
For a few seconds, David stared uncomprehendingly. This was the last thing he had expected Lyon to say. His brother had never given a damn what anyone thought about him.
“I believe I am seeing a miracle. I am looking forward to meeting the new countess to thank her personally for what she has done for you.”
A weary frown crept in Lyon’s face. He walked toward his desk. For the first time, David noticed the slight limp. He had said something wrong. His answer had damaged whatever momentary pleasure Lyon must have had in seeing him.
David knew what his brother was asking. Watching Lyon crossing the room, he cursed his own inability to decide how much fault Lyon deserved to shoulder in Emma’s death…if indeed he deserved any. David was also irritated, though, at his brother for pressing him for an answer. Even so, they were still brothers.
“Am I not welcome here?” he asked abruptly.
Lyon turned and rested a hip against his desk. “Baronsford is your home. It always will be. You are always welcome here.”
“I am not talking about the place. I am talking about you.”
Lyon crossed his arms over his chest. His blue eyes looked steadily into David’s. “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you. And I am tremendously relieved about the decision that you have made in not going to Boston.”
“But you are troubled.”
The earl nodded. “I am troubled, for I see the doubts still lingering in you.”
“What doubts?”
“Do not deny it, David,” he said wearily. “I am talking about Emma.”
“Everyone is resolved to the fact that ‘twas an accident.”
“I do care nothing for what everyone believes or is resolved to believe. I care about you, about your opinion, about what you think I did to ruin her happiness and possibly yours. I want nothing between us. I want no ill will based on doubts and suspicion.”
Suddenly, David felt a wave of exhaustion descend upon him. True, he thought, he had spent the entire day in the saddle, frustrated at not finding Gwyneth, worrying where she was and not even knowing where to look. He could not even dismiss the possibility that, after everything they had shared, she may still have run off with her fortune hunting beau. Nevertheless, that was not all that was weighing on him now. David felt as if his boots were filled with lead as he moved to the sofa and sat down.
“Lyon, I came back to Baronsford not to stir up the past, but to do what you and Pierce have been able to do—to leave it behind and move on into future. I harbor no blame. No resentment for anything. I certainly make no accusations. I am perfectly content to move on and never look back.”
“But that does not work,” Lyon said gent. “I have tried to do that, David. I went through a period of rage as well as a period when I tried to deny that anything was wrong. I could not heal, though, until I was able to face the truth of the past—my mistakes, my flaws…and Emma’s, as well. Wounds we carry from the past have a way of festering, infecting everything, and the pain can be unbearable.”
“That is only if you allow them to fester. I am not. I am already looking forward to future,” David said with honesty. “I am looking forward to all the things that you and Pierce have each been doing this past year. Choosing a wife, putting down roots, starting a family.”
Of course, he thought Gwyneth would jump at the opportunity of becoming his wife. But there was still time to convince her of it, David told himself. She might have taken a wrong road. He would find her.
The earl’s arms unfolded, and a gentle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked from the desk and sat in a chair across from David. “I am in favor of all these things. But they might just complicate your life more if you have not come to terms with the past.”
“Lyon, Emma chose you over me. That was the end of it. I put that behind me before your wedding. What else is there to come in terms with?” David was surprised at the note of bitterness in his own voice. His brother gave no sign that he had heard it, though.
“’Twas not me, David. Emma chose Baronsford. I was only a means for her to get what she wanted.”
“I do not disagree with you about that. But that’s the end of it. I do not care to talk about Emma any more. I do not want to go over what was and who did what or even how you and Pierce and I became strangers to each other because of one woman.” David ran a tired hand over his face and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I wanted to come back to Baronsford to see my family again, to bask a little in the warm feeling that I hear has made this place a home once again.” He looked up into his brother’s face. “I want to heal, too. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, David. That is not too much to ask. At least, not for the moment.”
Lyon leaned forward in his chair and extended his hand. David took it. The grip was strong. The connection felt like a lifeline.
/> “Welcome home, brother.”
*****
Walter had no time to think of his tower house. His focus remained solely on Baronsford.
In the same way, he tried to forget that anything personal had ever passed between him and Emma. In the year since returning from the continent, he’d seen her many times but would not allow himself to think about her. He treated her respectfully, keeping his distance. At all costs, though, he avoided being alone with her.
Walter knew that, having turned eighteen this year, she would be presented at court in London. Unlike the other young women of the ton, her appearance in social circles would have nothing to do with finding a proper husband. Walter knew she was destined for Baronsford. The question was which of the Pennington men would be the unfortunate soul who would marry her.
Walter was surprised when he heard rumors that spring that someone had been seen near the tower house. The vagueness of the talk was what made him ride over one wet afternoon to see for himself. The place still needed work, and there was nothing in it to steal, so if it were just a vagrant passing through, then no matter. If it were some potential troublemaker who might bring some harm to the people of Baronsford, though, that was another thing entirely.
Arriving at the tower house, he felt again the pride he had in the place. All the renovations were just as he had left them, but there were signs that someone had indeed been here. He walked through the empty chambers, but found no one.
Then, in the master’s bedchamber, he sensed her presence. On the sill of a narrow window, he found a small bouquet of wild roses, not a few days old. It was Emma; he knew it. She was using the tower house as a refuge.
He was still holding the flowers in his hand when Emma glided into the bedchamber. Her smile of greeting was his crushing defeat.
“Walter, I knew you would come back here.” She pulled the wet cloak off her shoulders and walked to him. “We both can try, but the invisible bond that connects us will always pull us together.”
He wanted to deny her words, but he couldn’t. As if in a dream, he stood there, rooted to the ancient timbers of the chamber floor. Unable to resist, he simply allowed her lips to find his. She tasted of the rain. Emma smelled of wild roses, and it was an intoxicating scent that seemed to belong only to her.
“I should not forgive you, though, for making me wait and suffer for so long.”
The breath caught in his chest when he realized she was undressing.
“Emma,” he said with alarm, stepping back.
“I told you before. You must be the first.” She backed him against the wall. She kissed him again, her lips potent as any drug. “And I have decided to forgive you for not waiting for me.”
She took his hand and placed it against her breast. The front of her dress was unbuttoned to the waist. Only the thin silk of her chemise separated her flesh from the hard calluses on his palm.
“I know you know what to do,” she said thickly. “Your reputation amongst the women has spread. Even the servants at Greenbrae Hall know what magic you can perform. I want the same thing, Walter. You owe me at least the same pleasure.”
“Emma, this is not right.” He pulled his hand away.
“This is why you came here today,” she responded, pushing her belly against his hardening manhood. “You cannot deny what you are feeling. I know what this means. You want me. And I have waited long enough, saved myself for as long as I could. Now I want you to take me.”
He took hold of her shoulders and pushed her away. “Listen to yourself. You sound no better than a tavern wench.”
“I care nothing about that if it means you give me what you have been giving all those others. Call me wench or whore, make love to me in a back alley tavern or against a rock in a pasture, it matters not. I will be anything you want me to be, so long as you are the first man I make love to.”
“Listen to me, then.” He shook her once and looked into her eyes. “You have a respectable future awaiting you. One that you’ve told me yourself cannot include me. Any one of my cousins could become your husband. They will expect virtue and dignity from you. Your husband is the man to whom you should be offering this.”
She laughed and reached down, touching him through his breeches. “You shall be the first, Walter. You gave me my first kiss. You shall be the first man I make love to.”
“You heard nothing I said.”
She shook her head and shrugged off his touch. “This is our place. ‘Tis the safest place for both of us.” She pushed down the dress and let it pool around her feet. “If you do not make love to me here, then I shall have to come to your bedchamber at Baronsford. And if you reject me there, I shall simply corner you in one of the stalls at the stables.”
Her gaze caressed the length of his body and focused on his bulging manhood again.
“I shan’t even push you to make the first advances. You can just stand there and watch me.” She pulled the thin chemise over her head and threw it aside.
Walter knew he should run from her, but he couldn’t. His eyes drank their fill of her body. She was more perfect than he’d ever dreamed. As he watched, she pulled a handful of pins out of her hair, and the curls tumbled down over her shoulders.
“Do you know what other men would give for what I am offering you?” She came toward him again. “Do you know what David would do if I stood before him like this?”
Her lips touched the taut skin of his jaw. He pressed his head back against the wall. Her fingers moved down the length of his arm and she entwined their fingers. Raising his hand, she placed it on her breast again. This time she ran his palm back and forth against the hardened nipples.
“Last summer, I let David touch my breast. I did not even tell him to stop when he pulled down the neckline of my dress and suckled me.” She started undoing his breeches. “The entire time, though, I imagined ‘twas your mouth at my breast. I’ve even tried to think what ‘twould be like to have your weight on top of me and you deep inside of me.”
Walter let out an agonized groan when her fingers slid inside his breeches and grasped his throbbing member.
“Did you ever think about me while making love to the other women? Did you ever pretend ‘twas me that you were touching? I have enough proof in my hand that you want me. What are you waiting for Walter? Take me.”
He put his hands around her and drew her fiercely against him. “I cannot fight you.”
“I do not want to fight.” She smiled against his lips and then kissed him hard, pushing her tongue into his mouth. She pulled back a moment later. “I want to feel you inside of me…here.”
She guided his hand to her folds. She was wet. With no gentleness, he pressed a finger into her. She threw her head back and gave a satisfied cry, pushing herself against his hand. He could feel that she was a virgin. That was when Walter truly lost his mind.
Making love to Emma was unlike anything he’d experienced with any other woman. She was bold, demanding, wild. He was not even able to discard all of his clothes before she turned her back to the wall and put her legs around him, lifting herself onto him. She made him drive into her, taking her virginity. Eye-to-eye, equals linked in the most intimate way.
The satisfaction was unlike any Walter had ever experienced, either. But the guilt that immediately followed was overwhelming, and he doubted if it would ever be washed away.
Not for as long as he lived. Not for eternity.
CHAPTER 13
The night was cold and Gwyneth was glad for the small fire crackling inside the protective curtain of the abbey wall. Though she had tried to stand earlier, the world had gone spinning off, with flashes of yellow and orange blinding her. With the help of Violet, she had made it to one of the ruined walls. Sitting there as she sun went down, she’d had a perfect view of the valley below and the path she had taken. With the passage of time, she was feeling better, too.
In all the times Gwyneth had traveled through these sections before, she had never been aware of the ext
reme isolation of the abbey. The valley itself was now deserted. There was no cottage that was inhabited, not for as far as the eye could see. No travelers even. Around dusk, she was aware of a small herd of deer on the far side of the valley. Staring at the scene was as intimidating as it was soothing. Gwyneth guessed that days could go by before anyone would pass. At least there was no sign of the highwaymen.
After Violet had taken care of the horse, the two women had shared some dry bread Gwyneth had in a saddlebag. It was not much of a dinner, but it had sufficed. She could hardly eat anything. Even as they broke the bread, their conversation had been scarce. Gwyneth did not want to press the young woman about her earlier request, but at the same time, she was eager to mend the breech between them.
As the hour grew late, she still had no desire to lie down or go to sleep. Moving at all aggravated the persistent throbbing in her shoulder.
Violet did not seem too keen on sleeping, either. She sat quietly, not too far away, feeding sticks she’d gathered earlier into the fire. She showed no sign of harboring any ill feelings but appeared to be simply lost in her own thoughts. The mystery of her background, though, continued to nag at Gwyneth.
She watched the other woman write something in the dirt with the end of a stick before feeding the wood into the fire. She remembered her own notebook in the saddlebag of her horse. Her mind was full of words she would have liked to put on paper. What she had experienced firsthand, riding through the countryside, dressed as a lad, trying to avoid what she was sure were highwaymen.
All that she’d written before was from her imagination, or from the bits and pieces of adventure and romance she’d read in other stories, reshaping it with different people in another setting and told in her own way. But now she had so much more to write about. The single act of falling off hr horse with her foot becoming stuck in the stirrup was worth lines and lines. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember all of it. Her imagination was already filling the gaps.
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